


Wonder If It's Still There

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [295]
Category: Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: Doesn't Go Great, First Time, M/M, Mild D/s, Post-Fate of the Furious (2017), Reunions, Take Two, When Your Ex Tries to End the World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 10:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20256319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: They sleep on opposite sides of the bed. Which is a good thing, because neither of them is asleep.





	Wonder If It's Still There

They sleep on opposite sides of the bed. Which is a good thing, because neither of them is asleep.

“This was a mistake.”

A flash of sirens on the ceiling, red lights chased by blue. “No shit.”

Neither of them is naked. Shaw still has his shoes on, for god's sake.The whole room reeks of spunk. But there aren’t any windows broken and none of the vanilla hotel furniture has earned a new scratch because in the end, when it came down to it, their focus had been singular and remarkably non-destructive and if he’s honest with himself--if he has to be--Shaw hasn’t let himself go like that in _ years:_ almost ten, hasn’t it been? since he last bent over for a man. He’d forgotten what it was like, not being in control. He’d forgotten how he much liked it.

Which is a good thing, because this thing, here, is never bloody well happening again.

“You can fuck right off, you know,” he says into the silence.

“I don’t need your goddamn permission. I’ll leave when I’m damn good and ready.”

He grits his teeth and ignores the jerk of his dick, the way the blood between his legs is already aiming to recover at the sound of that snarl. God, he’s too old for this shit. “Get out.”

It comes out too softly, too hoarse; he should be bellowing and throwing fists. He’s not.

Maybe that’s what does it, though, what gets Hobbs off the wrecked bed and onto his feet, a hulking shadow backlit by the city at night. Except the sky’s a little grayer than it should be if it were still proper dark; dawn’s coming, Shaw realizes. And he’s a fucking coward. He can’t face this shit in the light.

A scrape of a chair, there is, the sigh of overstretched cotton going back on. “You always go ass-up at family functions, Shaw, or was tonight the exception?” Hobbs chuckles. There’s nothing funny about it. “Or maybe you really are just a slut.”

_ Slut._ A word spat in the air a half-second before he shot off: two big fingers in his ass and his own stripping his dick--a blade, then, that word, a perfect kick to the gut. 

Now, though, it's a mockery.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Hobbs.”

The shadow turns back towards him, sneering. “Oh, believe me, asshole. You don’t have to.”

The door opens and closes. So do Shaw’s eyes.

And when he’s sure he’s alone, he sits up gingerly, all of New York at his back, and kicks off his shoes, peels off his pants. Feels that half-forgotten ache in his ass.

In the shower, he doesn’t look at the bruises or the bites even though they sting his shoulders, burn the soft insides of his thighs. He doesn’t touch his dick, either; he keeps his eyes front and center. He uses a whole bar of sharp hotel soap.

And when he wanders out clean, he draws the curtains properly and strips the come-stained comforter from the bed and pulls back the sheets, slides in. Buries his face in the only unsoiled pillow.

Outside, the day’s come, he knows, but he doesn’t have to face it. Not yet.

****

They sleep on opposite sides of the world for a long time, and that’s good. Until they’re thrown together again and don’t sleep for what feels like a week.

There is Brixton and his sneer, a scab ripped from an old wound, but he doesn’t think about that, he can’t, and it’s easier not to when he looks into the man’s eyes because there’s an emptiness there, something hollow, that hadn’t been there before. Before, when they looked at each other--in a briefing, on assignment, in the tiny shower in Shaw’s old flat--there was a heat there, a golden, gorgeous light that had bloomed brightest when Shaw was on his knees and Brixton was teasing him, rubbing that big, leaking cock in his face.

“Do you want it?” he’d murmured, his fist at the base. “Ask me, Deck. Ask me nice.”

And when he’d finally gotten it right, the pitch of his plea, the urgency, the greed, Brixton would give it to him, inch by steel inch, cupping his head and stroking his cheek.

“Just like that. That’s what you’ve wanted all day, isn’t it? Look at you. Look how hard it’s made you, darling, getting to suck on my dick.”

And after, when Brixton had come down his throat or better, all over his face, he’d get a tongue in his ass, thick and insistent, grunting, humming, stroking until he was begging all over again.

He doesn’t think about that, when they’re chasing him, whaling on him, watching him fall back senseless into the sea. The man he loved once, the man he killed, he’s been dead almost a decade; seeing this monstrous version of him is nothing but confirmation of that.

“So you and Brixton, huh?” Hat says when the world doesn’t end, when they’re sitting on Hobbs’ mum’s porch drinking something sweet and eating far too much.

“Yeah.” He cuts his eyes at her; they’ve never actually discussed this. “Is that, er. Is that all right?”

“That your ex-boyfriend just spent three days personally trying to murder us and the entire population of the Earth or that you go for men? Come on.” She bumps his shoulder and gives up a grin. “It’s adorable that you think I didn’t know, Deck.”

He bumps her back and stays there, their arms pressed together in the heat. “Nobody like a smartass, Hat.”

She sighs, his little sister does, and reaches for his drink. “You do.”

”Yeah, well. Clearly I have terrible taste.”

“Clearly. Are all of your exes bent on destroying the world?"

Across the way, he sees Hobbs, hears him yelling, a mountain of a man chased by a pack of happy, screaming kids. 

“Nah,” he says, kissing Hat on the head. “Not all of ‘em.”

****

When the sun sets, they do rest, all of them. There are people snoozing everywhere--“They’re passed the fuck out,” Hobbs corrects as they pick their way across the compound, “no need to get fancy”--dogs and kids, too, and for a while it looks like they’ll be kipping down in the grass.

“Ah!” Hobbs says, a sudden spark in his eye. “I wonder if it’s still there.”

“What?”

Hobbs grabs his wrist and starts towing. “Easier to show than tell, Deck. Come on.”

Where they go is the custom shop, silent now, and climb above it. What they find is a weatherbeaten loft, nothing fancy: a wooden floor, a mattress, and rolling doors pulled open, no part of the island held back.

“So basically,” Hobbs says a few minutes later, “we put the lives of everyone on this side of the island at risk, saved them, and then got them smashed out of their minds.”

“I think they’ve earned it.”

“Well, duh.” The mattress isn’t that big; there’s a dip in the thing when Hobbs turns. “My point is, asshat, that I don’t think I’ve ever heard this place so goddamn quiet. It’s weird.”

“Scared by a little peace and quiet?” Shaw snorts. “No wonder you talk so much. Trying to scare off the willies, are we?”

A chuckle. “Now, now, Dr. Lecter, let’s not get crazy here. I’m not complaining. It’s just different, ok?”

Outside, if he listens hard, he can hear the call of the ocean: water kissing rocks into infinity, retreating, slamming, licking again and again. The earth gives in slowly, a piece here into the waves, another there. But the land’s just as strong as before, even when it crumbles; it hits the water with a punch and a loud, crashing splash.

Maybe that’s what makes him turn and reach for bare skin in the dark. They’re both down to their borrowed shorts--too big on him, too small on Hobbs--swimming in the last flickers of endorphins and leftover hooch and clean, salty sweat.

“The hell are you doing?” But Hobbs doesn’t pull away.

“I’m touching you, numbnuts.” He pinches one broad, hot nipple; snickers when Hobbs sucks in a breath. “And apparently, you don’t hate it.”

A hot hand on the back of his neck, a greedy little noise when he pinches again.

“Don’t hate it,” Hobbs grunts. “But I’d like it better if you licked it.”

When it comes down to it, they don’t have any lube and spit only goes so goddamn far so he doesn’t get fucked, no matter how much he whines. And he does whine this time, does beg for it, does get off on it, hard, that feeling of desperation, of _ need _, and Hobbs doesn’t give him shit for it. Well, not too much, at least.

“Who knew,” Hobbs slurs against his hole, “that all I had to do to shut you up was stick my tongue in your tight little ass?”

“Fuck you.” It comes out too softly, too hoarse, but it fits this time, in this moment. Which makes sense, because right now, so do they.

“You realize Jonah’s gonna make us burn this mattress,” Hobbs says later, when they’re both satisfied.

“Yeah?” He nuzzles Hobbs’s throat.

A big, hot hand cups his ass. “Yeah. So I figure we’d better get our money’s worth out of it, huh?”

“Mmmm. It’d be a mistake not to.”

The night’s quiet for a moment. “It wasn’t a mistake last time, Deck. I know I said it was, but that was bullshit. I was--” He sighs, a big sound that shakes his whole body. “I shouldn’t have left like that, in New York. I was an ass.”

“I shouldn’t have told you to leave. But I thought you wanted to.”

“I did.” A kiss. “I didn’t. I kind of did. Shit, man. I didn’t know what to think.”

“And there’s your problem, eh? Right there.” He licks into Hobbs’ mouth, still sour with his own taste. “You’re not the brains of this operations, sweetheart. That’d be me.”

A growl. “God, it makes me hot when you say stupid shit like that. Which is good, because you say stupid shit _ a lot _.”

They sleep in the middle of that bed, eventually, when Shaw’s pumped out and Hobbs has come twice more down his throat. It’s hot and the night air is sticky but, hell, Shaw figures as Hobbs curls big around his back, they are, too.

“Look,” Hobbs says in his ear as the sky lightens, “I like you and everything, dude, but you’d sure as shit better not snore.”

“Luke?”

“What?”

Shaw grins. “Shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”


End file.
